Not Dangerous
by Caepio
Summary: Antony/Brutus. Set in February of 44 B.C. A brief, inconclusive, conversation on Cassius, the Optimates, and trust. Rated M to be safe.


_February 28th, 44 BC_

Antony, for once, had woken before Brutus. Perhaps it was the time of day - it was unusual for Brutus to come anywhere near sleep during the daylight hours. When he did, he fell deeply asleep. Antony rarely had a chance to watch him like this. Awake, he never seemed quite at peace. He was not restless, but his thoughts never stopped. As far as Antony knew, he was the only one granted, what must be to Brutus' mind the privilege, of being allowed to distract him from what he no doubt saw as infinitely more important things. Though Antony was optimistic that by this point Brutus viewed him with a certain level of equality to those things.

He watched the other man slowly start to wake, stretching lazily, a slight tautness spreading through his body as he felt the slow ache of their earlier activities shuddering through him, his body protesting at being forced to move. Brutus unhurriedly opened his eyes, glancing at the difference in the shadows against the wall at the head of the bed- he'd slept longer than he expected, but then, he thought with a slight smile, he'd needed it. He rested his head on his crossed arms, eyes half closed, enjoying the feeling of the sunlight falling through the windows across his bare skin, the warmth of Antony's body next to him, eventually raising his eyes to look at the man, his gaze following the bruising marks that trailed down the other man's neck to his shoulder with a slightly rueful smile. He didn't regret it in the least though. He liked the lazy satiety of moments like this. He liked having sex during the day, and the absolute exhaustion that followed. It felt like a real break, like he was actually giving himself something forbidden but too sweet to be denied. A moment of something that was purely for it's own sake, the sake of pleasure. He didn't have that luxury with anyone else. He liked that he could have it with Antony. That Antony wouldn't think less of him for it. There was a reason he felt he could trust him with this side of himself. No one else had that privilege.

Antony reached out to lightly run his fingers through the other man's hair, smiling as he closed his eyes in pleasure with a soft sigh of contentment. They stayed like that for a long moment, the quiet of the room unbroken, before Brutus finally pushed himself up, wincing slightly at the ache in his body and glancing at Antony in time to catch his slight smile of apologetic amusement. "I'm blaming you." He said in false sincerity, barely keeping from smiling, "If anyone asks why I'm uninterested in the riding trip tomorrow. I'm blaming you."

Antony raised an eyebrow slightly, "What explanation will you give?"

Brutus smiled, "I'll say you've given me a splitting _headache_. Your political views made me sick, and I am forced to stay in bed all day because of it."

Antony smiled slightly in return, though wishing that Brutus didn't have to bring up politics, "Now that doesn't sound particularly Stoical."

Brutus laughed softly, sitting up properly and trying to straighten the tangles and knots out of his hair, "It's a good thing I'm not strictly a Stoic then."

Antony leant back against the headboard of the bed, watching the other man. After a moment, and almost reluctantly he asked, "Is there really a riding trip tomorrow, or did you merely say that to have a dramatic opportunity for blaming me?"

Brutus glanced around at him, "I decline to admit that I said it for dramatic affect, but there is a riding trip tomorrow. To Ostia. Cicero's holding a reception of some sort for some poet - I forget his name - and a group of us are going." He frowned slightly, "Why do you ask?" He raised an eyebrow, teasing, "It's unlike you to need my... company...so soon after spending an afternoon such as this."

Antony smiled slightly, looking down at the pattern of the quilt on the bed, "You're right, I suppose." For good measure he added, "Though I wouldn't refuse if you ever offered..." He ran his hand through his hair, ignoring the slight pain as his fingers caught on a few tangles. "Who exactly is 'us'?"

Brutus frowned in confusion, reaching over the side of the bed to pick his tunic up off the floor, his mind clearly not entirely invested in the conversation, "Us?"

"You said," Antony persisted, " 'A group of us are going'. "

"Oh. That." Brutus shrugged slightly, catching on to the tone in Antony's voice and trying to make light of it, "A number of people. Cicero's friends mostly. It's not really important-"

"I didn't say it was. I'm just..." Antony hesitated slightly trying to find the right word, "Curious."

Brutus pushed the blankets back, standing up and picking his mantle up off the floor, "Atticus, and Trebonius will be there I imagine. My cousin, Decius Brutus. Cassius said he might come."

Antony looked up sharply, though Brutus didn't catch it, distracted by looking for the pin to his mantle, "Optimates, mostly then?" He asked after a moment.

Brutus glanced back at him, finishing pinning his mantle in place and going back to sit on the edge of the bed. "Who else would I be going with?"

"No one- It's just..." Antony hesitated slightly, "I didn't know you were interested in spending time with them socially."

Brutus shrugged, "Cicero's an old friend. And it's only natural I should be becoming better acquainted with my political allies." He frowned slightly, considering the tension in Antony's expression, "Since when do you care who I spend my time with?"

"I don't give a damn." Antony said a little more firmly than was perhaps necessary, "I just- I am interested in what you do outside of bed, you know. This isn't just sex. I do think you're interesting to talk to."

"I'm gratified to hear it." Brutus said with a slight smile, "But really, there's nothing to it. I'm just going to listen to some idiotic poet read his works at Cicero's house, because Cicero seems to enjoy being a patron of the arts, and I wouldn't deny him his fun. He's always been a good friend to me, and has been of help in my political career. It would be childish of me not to go simply because I don't enjoy poetry." A slight reticence began to tinge his tone, combined with an almost false seeming sureness, as if he was trying to persuade Antony of something and would rather it were not questioned, "Besides, Cassius is my brother in law, and if he seems to think he's had enough of being mad at me over something that was more Caesar's doing than mine, I see no reason why I shouldn't accept the offered peace. It would be better if we were not seen to be at odds."

Antony didn't respond for a long moment, looking down at the quilt again, a slight frown marring his expression, "I suppose you know what you're doing. Ignore me. I just-" He glanced up at Brutus, finally, somewhat impetuously adding, "I don't trust him. I trust you. But I don't trust him. And it's your own business obviously, but from the way he looks at you? I don't think he'll ever really want peace. You should have seen his face when Caesar named you First Praetor over him. It was- hatred. For Caesar, firstly. But I can't help but think that you were-"

"Antony," Brutus said firmly, "Really. I don't see what you're so worried about-"

"I'm not worried." Antony said quietly, "I'm simply telling you what I saw. Take it as you will. You're my- Well. Maybe friend is the wrong word. But you're my lover. And I know it may mean something slightly different to you, but for me, it means that I don't keep secrets from you, and I don't hide anything that I think you ought to know, so I'm telling you what I saw. Do with it what you like. But I do care what happens to you. That, is not necessarily _worrying_."

Brutus had tensed slightly, his gaze not quite meeting Antony's, his breath caught for a moment before he spoke, almost inaudibly, as if he didn't mean to speak but it had slipped from him none the less, "It does mean something slightly different." He glanced back at him, a slight, almost forced smile on his lips, raising his voice, "Thank you none the less, I do appreciate that you care. But you must-" he broke off, about to say the word _trust_ but changing it last moment, "You must believe me when I say I know what I'm doing."

"Fine then." Antony responded softly, going to lightly brush his lips against Brutus' shoulder, slipping his arm around his waist "I'll let it alone." He smiled slightly, trying to ease Brutus' tension, "I hope you have fun listening to idiotic poets and the mutterings of insane politicians."

Brutus laughed softly, the sound breaking from him like an actor stepping into a part, the feel of the moment his mask slid back into place and Antony ceased to know quite where he stood with him, a moment Antony always hated when seeing him in public, "Insane? You know we all say the same things about your side."

Antony smiled in return, a tone of easy banter restored, their voices rising and falling in amusement, but if asked, Antony would have said he didn't remember much of the following conversation. He'd seen something in Brutus' eyes that had stopped every other thought in his mind, and whatever else he said that afternoon, his mind was turning over that look, the other man's reticence. It was one of the first times that he'd felt like Brutus was shutting him out. That he wasn't actually _being_ Brutus.

Antony had never been a particularly jealous lover when it came to Brutus. They gave each other space. So no - this was not about jealousy. He wasn't sure it was even about sex. The only place where his concern bled into having something personally to do with Brutus, and his care for him, was because he'd seen a different kind of tension in him these last few weeks. He did not understand it. But it had all started with Cassius, and he attributed it to him. When he saw Brutus with Cassius he felt this creeping suspicion and horror that he strongly disliked, and strongly wished that Brutus was not a part of. He did not want to distrust him. He had no reason to. It was just- Cassius. Cassius and the way he looked at Brutus, like he hated him for Caesar's love of him, hated him for ever having been the means to his own forgiveness after Pharsalus, hated his very idealism and trust in the good. Brutus didn't notice. Or if he did, didn't think that in the end, whatever that end was, it mattered. It was a dangerous game that he knew Brutus played, mixing himself up in politics and the people who dealt in it for far less pure reasons than his own.

What Antony noticed most was that his ways of joking, of speaking, in casual settings, had changed. The cynicism and sarcasm that Brutus used in his conversation, he was used to. It was a side of him that was unavoidable sometimes - it was hard to be untouched by cynicism in the world they lived in - but there was a new edge to it. An edge that he'd first felt after finding Brutus speaking with Cassius in a shadowy corner of the atrium at some dinner party or other. It was- painful. It had used to just be a slight thing, Antony attributed it to Brutus being a very theoretical person who was forced to live in a reality very separate from theory. That was becoming darker though. His idealism more driven. And Antony couldn't help but feel that it was driving against Brutus himself, like a double edged sword. And Brutus was holding the blade. The more he used it the more it cut him.

He felt sure, with no good reason beyond his observations other than that feeling, that Cassius was the one who had put it into his hand. Maybe Brutus had been asking for it in some way, but it was Cassius who'd given it to him. Or told him that he had to take it up. Or _something_. But whatever it was. It was Cassius. And Antony? Antony could have happily killed the man without another thought.


End file.
